


Winter Magic

by merentha13



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-29
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-19 19:29:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merentha13/pseuds/merentha13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Written for the Tea and Swiss Roll Weekly Obbo  Prompts: market, bandage, picture prompt</p></blockquote>





	Winter Magic

[](http://merentha13.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/295/45689)

“Dammit, Ray! You can’t go in there.” Bodie grabbed hold of Doyle’s jacket. All three men flinched as another small explosion rocked the market across the street from where they stood behind Cowley's Range Rover. Smoke and flames spread from the market to the nearby shops. “You have a death wish?”

“There are kids in there, Bodie.”

“Ray!”

But Doyle had already hared off across the road and into the burning shop. Bodie cursed – cursed the damn IRA for their Christmas bombings, cursed the fate that had found him and his partner in the area when the threat had been called in, cursed that same stubborn partner for his bloody need to help – especially if children were involved, and finally, cursed himself for following the prat into the fire – literally. He suppressed an amused smirk. “Don’t know why I’m followin’ you, sunshine – be the death of me, you will.”

Smoke surrounded him, making it difficult to see as he entered the shop through the hole that had been the front door. He could hear crying and shouting coming from further back in the building. He recognized Ray’s voice, calling for calm and trying to soothe the panic. He moved cautiously towards the voice and felt a chill creep down his back. Instinct taking over he yelled “Ray! Down!” as another explosion threw him to the floor. Shards of glass, wood splinters, bits of broken toys and burning Christmas garland filled the air, landing on and around him.

“Ray!”

As the debris settled, a heavy, foreboding stillness filled the shop. After the concussion of the bomb blast, the quiet was almost peaceful. Bodie rolled to a sitting position. As his hearing returned he could make out muffled cries. Coughing, he rose to his feet and moved towards the beseeching sounds. He could hear sirens outside and the clatter of rescue workers moving through the wreckage. He pushed his way deeper into the shop, over the destruction to the back where he’d last seen Ray. Barely visible in the dust still suspended in the air, he could see a couple of dark figures silhouetted by the flames trying to lift what looked like ceiling beams. 

“Ray!”

“Bodie.” Doyle’s voice was rough, his face soot-covered. Blood ran in a thin rivulet through the sweat on his forehead and down onto his cheek; he wiped at it angrily with equally bloody fingers. “Kids trapped under here,” he gasped, “give us a hand?”

Bodie moved in closer, reached out and lifted Doyle’s chin to look into red-rimmed eyes. He touched the still forming lump on Doyle’s forehead. “Concussed?” he asked.

Ray shook his head, and then winced. “Don’t think so. Doesn’t matter. We’ve got to get these kids out of here before another bomb goes off.” He leaned in to pry a beam off the pile in front of him. Bodie noted the cuts and burns on the busy hands and bent to help. 

Joined by several of the rescue workers, it took them some time to unearth the nook the children and their mother had managed to take cover in. 

Freed, the family and their rescuers raced from the building. As they ran across the street, the market disappeared in a cloud of smoke and cinders. The force of the blast tumbled the running figures to the ground, but they were far enough away that no further injuries were suffered. Bodie led the group to the waiting ambulance. 

“You too, sunshine,” he pointed at his partner. Doyle tried to wave him off, but Bodie was having none of it. “Looks like you took a pretty good blow to the head and your hands are a mess. Let the nice paramedics have a look at you, yeah?” Doyle tried to pull away. “Don’t make me go to Father...”

“All right.” Doyle gave him a narrow eyed gaze that glinted with humour. “I love it when you get all butch.”

Stitched and bandaged, Doyle joined the group of agents around Cowley’s car. The Controller was finishing up his de-briefing and handing out assignments. Not hearing his name, Doyle started to speak and found his partner’s hand covering his mouth. 

“Two days leave, Doyle,” Cowley spoke and got into his car, “Get some rest.”

Doyle stared at the retreating car, stunned. “Did he say two days? Does he realise he gave us Christmas off?”

“Don’t ask questions, old son. Let’s get out of here before he changes his mind. Mine or yours?”

“Don’t want to go home yet. Need to burn off some of this energy.”

“I know a good place to take care of that,” Bodie leered.

Doyle held up has bandaged hands. “Don’t think that’s on today, mate.”

Bodie pouted and when that was ignored, he shrugged. “What _would_ your Lordship like to do then?”

Doyle looked around at the devastation from the bombings and Bodie could see the building brood.

“Let it go, Ray. No one was killed. We saved some lives. We live to fight another day.”

Doyle studied his boots then looked up at Bodie. He rubbed the side of his nose and then nodded. “That’s all right then. Let’s walk.” 

Bodie protested, “But it’s snowing.”

“Very observant, Watson. We'll make a detective of you yet. It is Christmas Eve. What better time? I’ve always loved London in the snow.”

They walked several blocks in companionable silence, the only sound disturbing the peace was the snow crunching beneath their feet. Bodie nodded towards a cafe. They bought hot drinks and continued their stroll beneath leafless tree branches now dressed in a lacy finery of white and light posts wearing soft pillowed caps. The snow continued to fall, muffling the sounds of the city beneath its pristine blanket. 

Bodie smiled affectionately as he watched the weather work its magic on his partner. Eyes that had been flat and introspective now glowed with pleasure. The tense purposeful walk had turned into a loose limbed amble, Doyle’s inherent gracefulness returned in full. His face was relaxed as he looked up at Big Ben. The swirling snowflakes kissed a redden nose and rosy cheeks. Bodie reached out to help as bandaged hands fumbled with the beaker of hot cocoa.

“Ta,” Doyle grinned back at him, the look warm and inviting.

Bodie ruffled windswept curls, causing a small snow squall. “Feeling good about yourself now, eh?”

Doyle gave him one of his rare smiles. “Yeh, you were right, Bodie. We got those kids out, no one was seriously hurt, Cowley gave us two days off and it’s gonna be a happy Christmas all around. Sometimes we _do_ make a difference – and that makes all the rest worthwhile.”

“On the side of the angels, we are, mate.” 

“Can an ex-merc _be_ an angel?” 

“Berk.” Bodie scooped a handful of snow from the bonnet of a parked car and tried to put it down the back of Doyle’s coat.

Doyle spun away, but lost his footing. He grabbed Bodie to stop his own fall and ended up pulling Bodie down to the ground with him. He tried to grab a handful of snow, but the bandages made it difficult. Bodie took advantage and pressed a fistful of cold wet snow into Doyle’s face. Doyle rolled away, sputtering and Bodie leapt to his feet, ready to run. Doyle got slowly to his knees, shaking the snow from his head. Bodie walked quickly to him and bent over the hunched figure in concern. “You all right, Ray. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

Doyle stood quickly and showered Bodie with an armful of snow. The look of surprise on Bodie’s face was too much and he dropped back onto his knees, laughing. 

“Not very sporting, Raymond. You’d best hope Father Christmas isn’t about.”

Doyle stood and gently brushed the melting snow from Bodie’s hair and face. He looked quickly around, and seeing that they were alone on the street, he placed a quick kiss on the end of Bodie’s nose. “Don’t need Father Christmas,” he whispered softly, “Already got my present. Take me home, Bodie. There are a few things need unwrapping.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Tea and Swiss Roll Weekly Obbo Prompts: market, bandage, picture prompt


End file.
